Mahmoud Ahmadinejad

According to the official translation:

"Following World War Two they resorted to military aggressions to make an entire nation homeless under the pretext of Jewish suffering.

And they sent migrants from Europe, the United States and other parts of the world in order to establish a totally racist government in the occupied Palestine.

And in fact, in compensation for the dire consequences of racism in Europe, they helped bring to power the most cruel and repressive racist regime in Palestine."

Can't see what's so "vile and hateful", "extremist" about this. "Unacceptable," I'll buy. Perpetrators of such behaviors always find it unacceptable to be confronted with their behavior. My understanding of history seems to coincide exactly with Ahmadinejad's description. Perhaps"pretext" implies it never happened. But it also means it is the "reason" used for the action. And the comprehensive ousting of Palestinians from their ancestral homes was certainly justified because of the holocaust. And did not people from all over the world go to Israel to build their new homeland? And does not Israel raze homes with tanks, make Palestinians carry special ID, isolate them into controlled areas they can only exit from through checkpoints...

...am I starting to sound vile and hateful now?

Heavy Metal in Baghdad

http://www.vbs.tv/vice-films/heavy-metal-in-baghdad/blog.php

Happiness

"Happiness is excitement that has found a settling down place, but there is always a little corner that keeps flapping around."

- Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, E.L. Konigsberg

Baltimore Reads!

Robin invited us to join her at her new obsession, Baltimore Reads! True to plan, the kids and I awoke before 8 to head up to the warehouse of the Baltimore Sun Building downtown. At first, I felt like a tourist, walking tentatively with my children among the well-organized shelves sorted by level, topic, and type. Robin, bit by the bug of Baltimore Reads!, was already attacking the newly obtained books in the back, sitting unshelved still in brown boxes.

A volunteer approached. Did you come with your friend? Do you know how this works? I indicated that we did come with Robin, evoking the response, "Then you already know the deal! She's a pro."

We tentatively touched a few books, but were not fully engulfed by the trove surrounding us... yet. I told the children, "Do you like any of the books? You can pick as many as you want..." It was as if they didn't really believe me. "We can keep them? We can just take them? As many as we want?"

"YUP"

We wandered a bit more. Finally, Ui-Seng saw an old National Geographic with the Titanic on the cover, "Carrie loves the Titanic. I can get this for her!" and then an old Atlas, "Ms. Erin's favorite book is the ATLAS. I will take this for her." It was as if gathering books for others gave us permission to take books for free. The full possibilities of this place began to permeate us. Evains took his first step by picking a book for his cousin, Sage. We couldn't find a book that was tear-proof enough for 1 year old Skye.

The deluge had commenced. We were sifting through boxes of books like old pros, sorting and selecting potential worlds to traverse. My entree, of course, was selecting appropriate stories I thought my children would like. And what a treasure trove, it was! I found several books from Walter R. Brooks "Freddy the Pig" series that both Tim and I loved as children, for Evains. Another about a young ten year old girl from pre-Columbus Carribean Isles who dreamed herself awake to find herself walking along the beach, for Ui-Seng.

The test of true gratification was in the aftermath of walking out of Baltimore Reads! warehouse with 28 books that Saturday morn. The excitement emanating from my children about books! They could hardly wait to delve into them, agonizing over which word world would get their attention first.

Thank you, Robin, for sharing your new obsession with us! Baltimore Reads! Baltimore Reads!

WORDS Words words

"I had expected to feel joy, but instead felt confusion of sorrow, or maybe fear, for it seemed that my life was a hungry story and I its source, and with this kiss I had now begun to deliver myself into the words."

-Evelina, Louise Erdrich.

FRUSTRATION

WORDS! WORDS! WORDS! You elude me! I can taste you on my tongue, grip you in my gut. But you do not take form. You remain a smell when I breathe.

February 28, 1947

On February 28, 1947, Chinese soldiers struck an old woman selling smuggled cigarettes on the streets of Taipei, killing her. One and a half years after the transfer of power from Japan, the Taiwanese had experienced Chinese mismanagement, large-scale takeovers and subsequently suspended state-industries, inept rule, plundering across all levels of society, and betrayed promises and hopes. The Taiwanese were out of jobs, out of power, out of patience, and downright pissed off!

Large-scale protests erupted that were violently repressed by "Governor" Chen-Yi's soldiers. Sensing an opportunity to re-calibrate the levers, the ever-enterprising Taiwanese immediately began coalescing and concocting a plan for mutual co-existence with their new Chinese rulers. Elements of these include:

• Taiwan be given provincial (not colonial) rule.
• Provincial and city magistrates and mayors be elected before June
• More Taiwanese be given administrative, police, and judicial posts
• all special police be abolished and no political arrests be permitted
• Granting of freedom of the press and speech
• The right to strike
• Trade and Monopoly Bureaus be abolished
• Political and Economic rights of aborigines be guaranteed
• Central government (China) repay Taiwan for expropriated sugar and rice

The Governor initially played along with these starry-eyed Taiwanese whose Commander stated "I will guarantee with my life that the central government will not take military action against Taiwan."

....until the afternoon of March 8, when the streets of Keelung and Taipei were cleared with gunfire to announce the entry of Chinese troops. These were the Szechuan 21st Division, an outfit with a reputation for brutality. In the next 4-5 days, random terror was unleashed upon the streets of northern Taiwan followed by targeted island-wide massacre of intellectuals, professionals, businesspersons, and.... those convenient starry-eyed committee members working so hard to build a workable future with the Chinese.

This served as a targeted execution of an entire generation of leaders, craftily employing the tactics described in the popular Taiwanese saying "Slay the chicken to warn the monkey" Leaving a Taiwan society stripped of its leaders, too fearful to rise up against their brutal dictators for the next 40 years....

Scholars estimate that up to 28,000 people lost their lives in the turmoil. During the "White Terror" of the subsequent years, the Nationalists ruled Taiwan under martial law, which ended only when democratization set in during the mid-1980s.

The "228 Incident" remains a defining event in the political divide that exists in Taiwan today.

One of my favorite articles about the incident is posted here:
http://www.taiwandc.org/hst-1947.htm#Nation

Jesus Camp

OK. I have an avaricious appetite for watching disturbing documentaries. Just recently watched Dear Zachary and Body of War with streaming tears at points in the films.

No flick in a long time, however, has had the disturbing effect of Jesus Camp on me, so I am moved to write this note in order to give voice to the flutter in my chest.

It could be the absolute genius in which Becky Fisher employs effective teaching strategies, technology, props, music, and kinetics to "teach" and inspire her children. It pains me in my heart imagining what an amazing school teacher she would be. That jello brain mold and sticky hands thing totally blew me away! "Teacher of the Year" for sure as well as some sort of nationwide workshop conference to train others in her ways.

The other piece of it is the bridge to the spirit world called upon in service to their cause that, for me, is always a kind, compassionate, humble bridge that leads unconditionally towards correct thought and action. I don't believe they would call upon this if their intention were any different. My perception that they call upon it in service towards incorrect path is most disturbing... to me.

Jesus Camp

Aang Ain't White

http://aang-aint-white.livejournal.com/646.html

Kathleen Kennedy and Frank Marshall
Kennedy/Marshall Company
619 Arizona Avenue, Fl. 2
Santa Monica, California 90401

Dear Kathleen Kennedy and Frank Marshall;

I recently became an avid fan of AVATAR: the LAST AIRBENDER and have viewed the entire DVD series over the course of three months together with my two children, aged 7 and 8. I am excited to hear of a movie coming out based on the Nickelodian animated series!

NONE of the characters in Avatar are Caucasian, rather they span the majority world of yellow and brown people. Waterbenders are clearly Inuit. Aang, himself, is clearly East Asian. The Fire Nation is clearly Japanese. Many of the characters throughout the series represent nomadic and peasant civilizations across the large continent of Asia. Not only are the race of the people clearly not WHITE, cultural cues are also firmly planted in Asian culture and customs. The foundation of the entire series rests on Asian tenets.

My children are mixed race Asian/Caribbean. It is important to me they have a healthy cultural awareness. To caucasianize Avatar with white face will not only misrepresent the essence of AVATAR, it would contribute to a colonial mindset that distorts the power balance between cultures and negatively affects my childrens' sense of self-worth in their roots.

On the flip side, this represents a wonderful opportunity for brown and yellow actors to play positive characters that look like them, and for brown and yellow children to finally see honest portrayals of non-stereotyped characters who look like them!

It is your choice. Do you continue a long history of racist harm, or is it truly a new day in America? I believe if you take a moment to consider, the choice is clear.

YES YOU CAN!

Sincerely,

Laid at my Steps

Ask and it will come. Literally! knocking at my front steps.

Since Ui-Seng's birth, Frantz and I have pegged our little daughter for a life of performance. With a natural charisma, a command of her audience, a thoughtful awareness of people, and unassuming beauty, (I know! I am her mother!) she seemed destined for a life on the stage in front of bright lights.


Well, of course, then they grow up and begin to assert their own opinion. Ui-Seng does NOT WANT to be a big star on TV, performing in front of lots of people. NO! She refuses. And insists her role remains behind the scenes: writer, director, supporter of her more spotlight loving peers. In their current peer-inspired class production of Elementary School Musical, she is preparing the script and writing the lyrics to the songs.

So much for her destiny on the receiving end of the camera....

Last night, Suzie, a neighbor we have known for much of the eight years we have been in Baltimore knocked on our door unexpectedly. Suzie's daughter, Cleo, is completing her junior year at Baltimore School for the Arts. We have watched her grow up since 6th grade. She has been active in local theater since we met her, a participant in the School for the Arts TWIGS Theater program. The Fells Point Corner Theater is one of the local neighborhood theaters Cleo has been involved with forever, and tonight, they were in desperate need for children to cast in their Christmas Pageant.

"Can you come around to the theater and check it out?!"

We threw on our coats and headed to the theater, literally 5 houses away from ours, the kids whispering to me through gritted teeth, "we are NOT auditioning for this play." Neverthless, we visited and were invited to come WATCH their rehearsal on Thursday.

"The part is theirs if they will take it."

We will see what will happen on Thursday, although Evains has already been enticed at the prospect of playing a naughty boy who does not know how to behave in church and disrupts service with his little friend.

Me? I believe destiny knocks when we surrender our will to control it.

Groundswell

In an early debate, Clinton, Edwards, and Obama were asked who MLK would support in the current campaign. While Clinton and Edwards made the case for why they themselves would be the candidate of choice, Obama presciently stated MLK would support none of them, rather be involved in creating a groundswell of pressure on whoever the winning candidate would be.

In his early years, Obama started building on the ground, the footprint of which can be seen in the structure of his campaign "to get elected"! (I wonder if Palin understands now what "community organizing" is? ok. Perhaps not yet. We'll give her four years of folks sitting around kitchen tables strategizing her future campaigns to finally "get it." Then again, maybe not!) His swift rise to the top of the power bubble leaves Obama in a unique position of being closer to the ground than any other president in a long time.... And with an awareness that now he must be pushed by the ebbs and flows, whether they are the forces of multinationals, corporate lobbyists, the Bilderberg Group, or ....the people on the ground.

The body has a way of injecting adrenaline into a wound to numb the body from feeling pain. On June 4, 2008, Obama addressed AIPAC and slashed the first deep wound into my political and humanitarian psyche. Quickly the adrenaline rushed in. Over the course of this campaign, more and more adrenalyn pumped into me through the huge corporate presence and private "blue dog parties" at the democratic national convention, his support of FISA, his rhetoric of aggression and war during the debates, nuclear power, more drilling, "clean" coal (what?!?!), and more recently, support of the bailout bill. Today, Barack Hussein Obama selected Rahm Israel Emanuel to be his Chief of Staff.

OUCH!!! OUCH! ouch. ouch... ok. I'm numb again.

I am happy we have President Obama!! I just can't seem to feel the joy with all this numbing adrenalyn pulsing through my body.

I believe in the realm of his possibility. I believe in the righteousness of his heart. When Obama was on the ground, he built relationships with Palestinian and Arab leaders in his Chicago community. I, too, feel the pressure of Israel and feel at a loss as to how to compromise this pressure with my passion that Israel is an illegitimate state built on the direct genocidal elimination of a people evicted from their homeland. Aaha! ...perhaps now I see the deep bond between Israel and the US!

>breathe<

However, all sides need to come to the table with the heart of forgiveness and allowance to move forward together with justice in peace. Since his days on the ground, since the days of his AIPAC speech, Obama has not visited a mosque, been very careful about images associated around him that may infer anything "moslem," associated himself with more and more staunch advocates of Israel while distancing himself from Palestinian academics and leaders, and continued to engage in the rhetoric of the Israel lobby ...all in response to "pressure." Understandably, all voices deserve to be heard, but at the expense of those who will piss them off if they happen to be powerful? Obama's marginalization of the Arab American community needs to be mended. But we need a GROUNDSWELL of pressure to back him up on this. Here is my first point of groundswell...

Violence

Beginning writing about WUFI, the World United Formosans for Independence has regurgitated my thinking about the "underground," and "building a movement." What huge ideas! It takes gargantuan personal commitment to "go underground" for an ideology. And it still boggles me to wrap my mind around the concept of "building a movement." Let's consult my T-Shirt from Project South:


Well! I guess that settles it! What does it take to build a movement? Consciousness * Vision * Strategy

In honor of Bill Ayer's prominent role in today's Obama campaign, I turn my attention to the 2002 documentary, The Weather Underground, by Sam Green and Bill Siegel, for mental fuel.

The Weather Underground emerged amidst a real social movement gripping the American population in the 60's heading into the 70's through 1980. This was a combined upheaval, shedding the yokes of social constructs regarding race, class, gender, war, and at its core: violence.

Violence as defined as oppression of humans through the bonds of racism and slavery. Violence as defined as oppression of women through the restrictive economic and social confines of the suburban housewife. Violence as defined through our history of genocidal strategy that serves as the roots of our nation. Violence as defined most directly through the waging of war in southeast Asia and more recently in the Middle East. More than any other principle, violence has accompanied human history, struggle, and, in particular, the American experience.

The Vietnam War, a graphic incarnation of our nation's legacy of violence, spoke urgently to the young folks who committed themselves to the Weather Underground; a radical splinter group subscribing to the philosophy that violent offenders can only understand the language of violence, thus negating the effectiveness of the "peace" movement. Garnering their name from Bob Dylan's Subterranean Homesick Blues, the Weathermen employed violent means to respond to the violence being imposed in the name of the U.S., creating the need for a mass underground network of weathermen.

"You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows"
-Bob Dylan, Lover of Words.

WUFI has been cited in the April 1980 CIA Report on International Terrorism in 1979, as a group claiming responsibility for International Terorrist Attacks, 1968-1979. The allure and romanticism of revolutionary violence spanned a myriad of movements during this explosive period, the prominent ones including the The Black Panther Party for Self-Defense and Che Guevara's "successful" Cuban revolution. The depth of anger, frustration, and fury driving the young souls who engaged in violent resistance burned bright during this time.

But is it effective? Does revolutionary violence launch its perpetrators towards their desired goal, if peace and harmony are their ideal? Where institutional violent aggression begets the rage that drives grassroots violent resistance, what happens to the ideal? As Ms. Virginia, from the Orleans Street Library put it, "We threw the baby out with the bath water."

Therein lies the ultimate clash of good and evil. A theme of many of my favorite great odysseys from George Lucas' "Dark Side of the Force" in Star Wars, the "Good and Bad" split Captain Kirk from Episode 5 of Star Trek Season 1, to the "Four Elements" of my new obsession, Avatar. All of which have had a profound impact on my own psyche.

In Book 1: Water, Chapter 16: the Deserter, Aang, the Avatar, Master of All Four Elements whose job is to restore balance to the world, battles Fire Nation's Admiral Zhao's awesome aggressive fire force using Air Nation's tactic of duck and run. Aang, who never strikes an offense, eventually wins the battle because Zhao has inadvertantly set fire to his own entire fleet attempting to strike Aang who fleetfoots across the ships.

This is the foundation of the yin and the yang. It has always been difficult to grasp that the dark side must be present to the light side. If good is good, then bad must be bad! ....right? ....and therefore, eliminated. disappeared. ...right?

Futility

On Saturday, Dejan and I spent a gorgeous day in downtown DC touring solar homes. It was cool to see urban homes implement solar electric and solar hot water systems. All the sites I had toured to this point have been "little house in the wild" type of projects. Cool, but not quite the same as the ones we saw this day. Thanks to Dejan, urban landscape designer, who specifically requested this. We came home to the Fells Point Fun Festival where I am able to do my annual shopping direct from artisans. This year, I bought the winter's supply of African shea butter soap, a winter coat, and a small, but beautifully handcrafted drum for Evains.

It was a beautiful fall day. I capped it off that night by riding my bike to the Charles Theatre to see Battle in Seattle, a film by Stuart Townsend paying homage to the events surrounding the 1999 WTO Meetings in Seattle. It DID come to Baltimore!

The film was mediocrely written and produced. The story is much too big to reduce to a one and a half hour film. It felt thin and crispy. I can imagine for those who were there, it will feel sadly inadequate.

Little did I expect, however, I was swept in the days after with a tremendous scourge of futility that weighed on me. This scourge erupts from the deepest abyss of my gut. It arouses a sorrow, a sadness, that I cannot fathom or get my grips around. The powers that dictate the direction of this world deliver us towards destruction and the efforts of the little people are erased with a wink and a nod. And I think it is this sense of powerlessness that my friends who have taken their lives battle with. I, on the other hand, am consumed with an anger matching the futility. The frustration is too much for my little spirit to balance. I become explosive.

It's a bitch to carry....
Battle in Seattle

Connections

He walked right up and began to direct questions at me. Interrupted from reading, I was defensive about men approaching me and his entitlement to ask me questions put me off. I was less than receptive. But his intention was firm and did not flinch at my wall of resistance. He merely “expected” an answer. As we learn in teacher crash course, if you expect it, they (expectations) will be met.

“Where do you live?” He asked with no uncertainty.
“Why do you want to know?” I retorted back.
“I just want to know if you live around here.” He replied undeterred.
“I live on that boat over there, the second from the left.” He offered. “I just moved into it May 2 because of my desire to minimize my carbon footprint.”

He was melting my resistance. I was piqued. Who is he? What does he want?

That‘s the thing about soul messengers. They don’t want anything. They don’t even know why they’re talking to me. At least that’s how it seems. They just talk as if it’s the most natural thing. And the topics never need preface. They just flow in a stream of consciousness. Coming from no beginning and fading into no ending. Somehow, the message is always exactly what I need to hear at that moment in time.

I thought of other soul messengers who have blipped into my life so far: The UXO detonator at Aberdeen who popped his head over my cubicle wall as I was transitioning into the first few weeks of my first job. He invited me to dinner that night for a similar interchange; Conversations that began before we met and continued into the smoke of the future; Insights of things and people he could not have known around me. UXO detonators are paid so well because of the risk of being blown up, he only worked three months out of the year. The rest of the year he spent kayaking and camping our nation’s waterways.

Joe, the left handed entomologist from Georgia, coming through DC at the end of my exploratory year at the National Science Foundation, just before a huge shift as I traveled to Taiwan. After a day-long meeting about non-chemical pest management systems, he also invited me out to dinner for soul searching conversation.

Julius King, who dropped his job at the Pentagon one day to live on the streets: “It was something I knew I had to do.” Emerging into my life at Funk’s, the vegan coffeshop one block down on Eastern Avenue, again at a distressed emotional transition moment in my life. Waving me down on Eastern Avenue during a downpour from the open window of his car, “Hey! Hey, I just wanted to say hi.” Who are you? What do you want?

They all seem to have a similar vibe to them; something free, unattached, yet balanced and weathered about their lives. They come in and then, blink! Out without a trace. All in the same way: with a presumption and entitlement to be there. To engage. To speak. Do you know me?

Tom Maze, West Virginia native, PhD in English, Masters in psychology, gifted with a love of literature and universal ideas, will weather the winter this year in Baltimore in his 45 foot sailboat until he can get his office mobile. Then he will run his company while sailing around the world. He offers out of the blue to guide my writing. Who says angels aren’t looking after me?

Another soul come to deliver a message. Another connection for a reason. But I know exactly why. I know my reasons. And I am only eternally grateful to the guides and angels. To the universe.

Thank You.

Tent Revival! I gets religion.

Oh, Yes! Amen! And Hallelujah!

Today, I attended a downhome urban tent revival - complete with a drenching downpour! The Baltimore Book Festival took place in Mt. Vernon and was small enough to be manageable. I continue to find reasons why Baltimore is the place to be for me. The best part is always that it is bikable!

Amidst drenching downpours, I eschew umbrellas by subscribing to the belief of "the space in between." After an entire night and morning of solid rainfall, I left my house at 11:42 am and biked the 20 minutes from Fells Point to Mt. Vernon mostly dry. While finding a nice lamp post to tether my bike, the drizzle began again. Navigating my way to the literary salon, it began to do some real rain, but now I'm under the tent! It works every time: "The space in between."

I've been "gettin' my education" with Ron Suskind, so had to check him out when he came downhome local. He was invited through the One Maryland, One Book Council on Humanities to talk about A Hope in the Unseen. He gave a stirring account of his personal journey learning what it means to be human. Followed immediately by Amy Goodman who was down from New York to talk about the right to a free press. Using her past news reports, experience at the DNC and RNC (getting arrested!), and stories from her book "Standing Up to the Madness," Ms. Goodman organized her presentation like a well-crafted news report.

What was impressive and inspiring is the crowd of people who jammed the tent for these two documentarians imploring us with stories of crossing divides and creating social change by standing up in dissent. It did feel like an urban tent revival with audience callouts and response to impassioned pleas by the presenters. And like a true revival, everyone was drawn to their feet by the end. These are folks who knew what (who) they came out for. Dare I call us, "groupies?!" During the sessions, Mother Nature chose the moment to release her deluges, creating a sense of otherwordliness under that tent...

Being a book festival, the authors were very accessible, hanging around for a few hours afterwards, shooting the breeze with all of us groupies. Incognito, I think Cedric Jennings was hanging out next to Ron Suskind... No one acknowledged this, but I'm guessing this was so. I was not going to be the one to cry wolf. Let it not be ME to be the one to blow his cover. I'm excited my new bookmark for my book "One Percent Doctrine" has Ron Suskind's email written on it (by his (left) hand) with the promise of further correspondence! I'm going to draw him a map for his book! Amy Goodman is left handed too! Coincidence.

Asking for another "space in between" I made it back home only slightly damp. Another great day biking around my city.

Surf

On my netflix account, I was warned the following films would not be available after October 2. So I'd better get cracking and watch them now while it's available.

The first two nascent films for Bruce Brown, Slippery when wet (1958), and Endless Summer (1966) were the first beginnings of a filmmaker dynasty; Now going on three generations of surfer filmmakers. Slippery When Wet, the first endeavor, had a budget of $5000, which included airfare to Hawaii for 5 surfer guys, $250 for the songtrack from a musician friend, and the purchase of all of his film equipment!

My impressions? I like the storytelling of Bruce Brown. Travel the world and surf? Live on a shoestring. Boys who know how to play in a big way. Real life always butts in. Sigh.
Endless Summer

Edge of America

Add this to my cache of teacher/coach flicks. Let's keep our eye to the truth of our country's origins. I like the term, "The Edge of America" referring to "Indian" communities. It injects a good dose of humble pie to any sense of "entitlement" we may harbor.

Daniel Junges' film, Chiefs, is made the way a documentary should be made. Homegrown in Wyoming, he grew up a spectator on the sidelines of the Chiefs singular mindedness around their basketball team. Curious and eager to tell their story, he goes home to do just that.

The Edge of America is a fictional reconstruction of reality in Utah. A real mishmash of race in this country. Perhaps a relevant reminder in our current day and age.

"You tell me why I'm pissed off."
"Because you're a black man in America."
"That's right. I'm good and pissed off."
"Well, get over it! You're talking to Indian People here. Get over it! Get on with it! Or get the hell out!"

Scenes from My Waterfront

I was so inspired when Ron Suskind got up out of his "Director's Chair" and exclaimed, "I need to walk. You know, when I write, I'm always walking around. Getting my ideas and then scrambling back to my desk to write it down before I forget!" I relate to this!

The walk along the waterfront serves many functions. It destresses, relaxes, and purifies the mind. This helps the mind to think, the spirit to regenerate, and the body to unwind.

Saturday, September 20 was the Ocean Conservancy's International Coastal Cleanup day and lo and behold! There was an event scheduled in my hood: The Living Classrooms Foundation sponsored an event.

The same old realizations continue to prove themselves. Back in my Civil Engineering student days, we dissected trash so we could design waste management systems. We learned that certain things remain in landfills forever.... We had NO WAY to manage this waste. What are they? Plastics, styrofoam, and aluminum. Life never strays very far from the basics. What did we fish out of the water this day? Let's see...

Be kind to our waste stream. Eschew the use of these materials. Aluminum can be efficiently recycled, so that's ok as long as you DIVERT them from the waste stream. NO PLASTIC BAGS!!! Bring your own when you shop. Bring reusables with you when you go out to eat or drink. Is this strange to ask? You tell me where these materials will end up if we continue to generate them?

Here are shots taken from my waterfront walk. Muse. Regeneration. Relaxation.


Who wouldn't be inspired!

Stop-Loss

Beautiful Young Statues wrestle with their demons. God Bless America.

Ma Rainey's Black Bottom

To grease my writing chops and curtail my consumption of easy video and passive entertainment, I have instituted a requirement for myself! For each film (play) I consume, I am required ("momma takes charge!") to write some thoughts and reflection. To satisfy my continued appetite for film and books, I scramble to catch up...


On a gorgeous autumnal Saturday night, after grapefruit gelato from Pitango, I swing by The Waterfront Hotel, swiftly becoming a venue nurturing local music talent, to catch Nelly's Echo for one hour before waltzing across the square to the Vagabond Players where I viewed Ma Rainey's Black Bottom by August Wilson. Where else, but in Fells Point?

Always a treat to have live entertainment, I travelled back to 1920s Chicago, and was hit by all the ways things have not changed in America. Perhaps nothing ever really changes. Is this the beginning of dynamics I see in my City? My nation? Our World? Or was the beginning well before even Levee, Toledo, and Ma Rainey scuffled. Good storytelling taps into the human spirit in all of its struggle and beauty. All of its shortcomings and its strengths. It sometimes seems like the same thing happening over and over again. Sometimes, it feels so endless! Sometimes it feels so dependable. Sometimes it feels so full of joy!

I am entering the zone. Stories are being written in the air around me as I walk, as I think, swim, drive, bike. It is now my challenge to capture them and give them voice.